Shine On You Crazy Diamond
by Shearwater
Summary: "I will be as brief as possible, Dr. McCoy." Spock almost looked concerned. "Do you know the whereabouts of Captain Kirk?" Post-Nero. Just where did Jim go to crash after the dust settled?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Thanks for stopping in. This is just a little post-Narada drabble I've been wanting to write. There are about two more chapters to follow this one, which I hopefully will be adding soon. This is my first ST:2009 fic I've written, so please be nice! Please drop a review if you have a moment; tell me what you think! Love it, hate it, think it's bizarre as eff, I don't care! Feedback is feedback, and I appreciate it every time.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything the Star Trek franchise. I also do not own the song "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" by Pink Floyd.** **It just reminded me so much of Jim I had to do something with it. :D**

 **Enjoy!**

Shine On You Crazy Diamond

Leonard McCoy thought he knew what it meant to be tired.

He thought he knew, with good reason.

Twelve years of prep school. Four years of premed undergraduate. Med school for what seemed like a century. And while some of his most precious memories came from the latter two, and he would never regret or repent that time, he never really wanted to know what it felt like to only have coffee in your stomach– for nearly six straight days. College especially– he barely remembered his final semester because he was so goddamned sleep -deprived.

But now, as he finally sat down at what was now his desk, scrubs off for the first time in what felt like days, an exhaustion as he had never known tsunamied into him. The ship's artificial gravity seemed to increase, dragging him down into the floor of the sickbay. He was _bone-crackingly_ tired.

This had been, hands-down, the worst day of Leonard's life. Worse than the day he watched the light go out of his father's eyes. Worse than the day the court settled and Jocelyn got custody of his little girl. No, the last twenty-four hours had brought him to levels of desperation and despair he hadn't even realized he was capable of feeling. Leonard McCoy was a doctor. He knew death. But the destruction Nero had wrought on the _Enterprise,_ on the rest of the Fleet, even on Leonard's own _goddamned planet_ – it was staggering. Hollowing.

And now, as the last of the patients were resting stable on their biobeds, the adrenaline that had been keeping Leonard on his feet since this whole mess began was finally wearing off, taking his bones with it.

 _Bones…_ He grinned faintly, on the verge of delirium. _Didn't I tell Jim all I had left was my bones? That's when he got that damn nickname in his head._ Leonard secretly enjoyed it, though. Being given a nickname meant someone was paying attention to you. In Jim's case, it meant he cared.

A cool, hard surface on his forehead. Leonard realized, distantly surprised, that his face was now resting on the desk, arms looped around the crown of his head. He decided me didn't really care. His burned-out mind began to wander towards the emptiness of sleep.

"Dr. McCoy." Someone was shaking his shoulder. "Dr. McCoy, wake up."

 _Go away,_ he thought. Who the hell dared keep him from sleep? Leonard heatlessly wished a case of Andorian shingles on the owner of the hand that was trying to draw him back into an ugly reality. He shrugged the hand off and snuggled deeper into the crook of his elbow. Unless someone was dying, he would not be moved.

"Leonard, please." It was a woman's voice, speaking quietly. "Spock's here."

 _That_ snapped him up. Anger flared in his stomach, and Leonard raised his head, scowling.

Christine Chapel, face pale and dark circles under her eyes, was standing next to him. "Sorry, Leonard. But he says he needs you for something."

"The hell does he want?" growled Leonard, rubbing his eyes. He still wasn't feeling particularly friendly toward Spock. Yeah, the pointy-eared bastard had helped save Earth, kept the ship under control and had the balls to beam down to a planet about to go through a black hole in order to save the Vulcan High Council. That was all well and good. But he'd also beat the shit out of Jim– _after_ marooning him on a god-forsaken ball of ice. Of course, Jim had been asking for it on both occasions, and it wasn't like Leonard hadn't wanted to punch the little asshole in the face before.

But Leonard still couldn't scrub his mind free of the image of Jim held down, choking and gasping as Spock cut off his air, and the coldness in his eyes as he did it. Someone earnestly trying to crush the larynx of his best friend was not something Leonard could quickly forgive.

Best friend… and if he was honest, only friend.

Leonard bit his tongue to keep from cursing. Spock was the last, the absolute _last_ person he wanted to see right now.

Christine looked beyond drained, but her eyes were sympathetic. "He wouldn't say, just that he needed to speak with you personally. And after you do, I don't want to see you back here in sickbay for at least two shifts."

Leonard bridled foggily. "What?"

Christine's jaw was set. "You get to your quarters, Dr. McCoy, and you stay there. Twelve hours rest, minimum. You're a liability as a doctor without it, and you need to maintain your own health. Get some sleep."

Leonard raised an eyebrow, frowning. There was too much to do yet. Reports to be written, patients to be monitored. Not to mention figuring out what the hell those Romulan bastards had put in Pike. He couldn't afford to go off watch yet. "Last I checked, Nurse Chapel," he said skeptically, "I outrank you. You can't order me out."

"And last I checked, Dr. McCoy," Chapel replied, not missing a beat, "Head Nurse reserves the ability to order the Chief Medical Officer off duty should they feel said CMO could be endangering their patients or themselves." She gestured to him. "Look at yourself, Leonard."

He started to protest, but stopped when he glanced at his hands. They were shaking violently.

Past his hands, resting on the desk, was a PADD. The identification tag on the back read _M. Puri._

Leonard felt like he's been kicked in the stomach as it finally sank in.

CMO. Head Nurse. Less than a Terran day before, he and Christine had been Cadets McCoy and Chapel, Second Class. Now they were responsible for the lives of everyone on board one of the last Starfleet ships in space.

He closed his shaking hands and stood. "Okay," he said, trying to not sound too defeated. "Twelve hours."

Christine smiled, half sad, half distantly amused. "Get out of here, Leonard." She returned to sickbay.

Leonard stood and didn't bother swallowing his groan. Every part of his body throbbed with tiredness. And now he had to deal with a certain green-blooded hobgoblin.

Spock was standing in the main entrance of sickbay with his hands behind his back. His eyes were hooded, more shadowy than they usually were, and there was a slight dip to his shoulders Leonard had never seen before. He bottled his surprise; even Spock looked tired, and Spock never looked anything, except vaguely superior. But his greeting and stance were as formal as ever.

"Dr. McCoy," he said, in his tone, as it typically was, vexingly polite. "Thank you for seeing me. You and your staff have had one of the heaviest burdens to carry during this crisis, and I am sure you are tired."

 _You have no idea,_ Leonard thought darkly. "Yes, I am, Mr. Spock," he said out loud, "so I would appreciate it if we could get this over with. What do you want?" He didn't have the energy to be respectful.

Spock betrayed no emotion. "Of course, Doctor. I will make this as brief as possible. Do you know the whereabouts of Captain Kirk?"

Leonard frowned. Surprise, followed by apprehension tinged with dread, started to curdle in his stomach. He wanted to scream "You lost him!?" in Spock's calm face.

Instead he growled. Leave it to Jim. "Kirk was supposed to report to sickbay two hours ago, when his shift officially ended. He was still being debriefed went I went to the bridge to drag the infant down here when he didn't show up." Damn Admiralty wouldn't even let the kid get treatment for his injuries before grilling him.

The ghost of a frown twisted Spock's features. "The debriefing concluded approximately ten minutes ago. Captain Kirk was ordered by the Admiralty to report to sickbay, followed by twelve hours time off duty. Due to the state of the ship and the casualties we have suffered, they deemed twelve hours the maximum affordable time before he would again be needed on the bridge."

Leonard resisted the urge to scream. Twelve hours? No. Jim had suffered an allergic reaction, done a goddamned HALO jump onto a fiery drill, and been used as a punching bag by an enraged Vulcan– not to mention whatever other injuries he might have suffered on Delta Vega or when infiltrating the Romulans. Twelve hours was nothing after that kind of ordeal. Without even having looked him over, Leonard knew the kid would be needing four times that.

"The blatant bullshit in that order aside," Leonard ground out, "the answer is no. I don't know where Jim is." _And if I did, I'd smack him for not taking care of himself._ "Can't you locate him using the ship's computer?"

"As the Captain was not officially assigned to the _Enterprise_ back on Earth," Spock said, "his information was not entered into the ship's database. He name will not come up on any search."

Leonard silently thanked himself for having the foresight to enter all of Jim's medical information onto his personal PADD as a locked file when Jim asked Leonard to be his physician. Even thought he almost knew the kid's allergies by heart at this point.

As for Jim's earlier records…well, he knew those too, and that information wasn't in Starfleet's database anyway. It wasn't in any database as far as Leonard knew. Jim had hacked that history into oblivion years ago.

Leonard scrubbed his hand over his face. "If he's not in the computer, how did you even know he didn't report to sickbay when he was supposed to?"

Spock's eyes had sharpened infinitesimally. He looked almost–shrewd. No, not shrewd. Knowing. Perceptive. "Judging by the way Captain Kirk has handled the events of the last twenty-four hours, he does not seem to be the kind of man who slows and comes to an eventual stop once a crisis has passed. I wished to confirm that the captain made it to sickbay safely, though I suspected otherwise. It seems my hunch, as the term goes, was correct."

Leonard raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You, Mr. Spock? You acted on a hunch?" He didn't point out what surprised him more: that Spock was concerned enough about Jim to make sure he got to Medical. Less surprising was that he'd been able to deduce Jim's tendency to burn out until he was sure the job was completely done.

Spock seemed to ignore Leonard's jab. "I asked Nurse Chapel upon my entry if the captain had reported as ordered."

"And when you found out he hadn't, you figured I would know where he went." Leonard grinned ruefully. "Spock, there are two things you need to know about Jim Kirk. One, he is an absolute child when it comes to taking care of himself. The kid would run a mile before paying attention to the fact that his leg is broken. And two, if Jim does not want to be found, you will not find him. You could tear this tin can apart and it wouldn't make any difference."

Spock actually looked concerned now. The tightening of his eyes and lips, a slight set to his jaw. "The captain has sustained injuries that require treatment. It is imperative that we find him. Doctor, you are his friend. I would daresay you know him best, judging by the time you have spent together. Please think. Where would he go?"

Leonard ran his hands through his hair. He'd had a lid on his own worry all afternoon, trying not to think about how badly Jim might be hurt. He'd been so busy he'd been able to distract himself from fretting over one of the two people in the universe about whom he truly cared. And now here Spock was, telling him that person was missing.

"He could be anywhere!" Leonard snarled, trying and failing to keep his voice down. "Sometimes the kid just disappears. It's how he is." He racked his brain, trying to get inside Jim's head without result.

Who was he kidding? Yeah, he knew Jim, better than just about anyone else. He knew the kid's habits, preferences, even his story.

But Jim was also the smartest, most unpredictable person Leonard knew. Jim was a genius. His mind moved at the speed of light. It was as bright and sharp and impenetrable as diamond.

Leonard paused.

A memory surfaced– an old one, from almost two full years before. Images, feelings. A late night. Blood on the doorknob. A name whispered fearfully through the dark.

"Stay here," Leonard ordered Spock. He ran back to his office and retrieved his bag, checking quickly to make sure it carried some of the few medicines to which Jim wasn't allergic. The feel of the familiar genuine leather handles, coupled with the bag's comforting weight, grounded him. He took a deep breath, clear now in what he had to do. He returned to the entrance to sickbay, where Spock stood waiting.

"I think I know where he is," Leonard said. "And if I'm right, I'll need your help. Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey all! Sorry for the wait. Here's part deux!**

 **I'd just like to say I'm totally, delightedly surprised by the wonderful feedback I've received on this story. This is my first ST2009 fic I've written, and so far I'm really enjoying contributing to the fandom! You guys are so positive and kind! Thank you. That being said, constructive criticism is always welcome. Your reviews make me so excited to write, hope you keep them up! Glad you're liking it so far. :)**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowin' them for a while.**

 **Chapter 2**

The hallways seemed to elongate treacherously as Leonard hurried down them, med bag heavy in his hand, Spock at his side. He was walking as fast as he could without running– despite the fact that the ship was (currently) not in danger, Leonard could sense the tension and fear still thick in the air, combustible. The CMO and First Officer running in the hallways could put a match to it, igniting a panic. No need for that. Leonard had already been more terrified today than he ever had been in his life, and he was sure he wasn't the only one. He didn't need a bunch of Redshirts going into shock and collapsing on the floor in front of him.

Yet his feet yearned to move faster. Jim was hurt, of that he was sure, and both the doctor and the friend within Leonard screamed for speed.

"Doctor," said Spock, voice calm but low, drawing Leonard out of his internal convection cell of worry. "In regards to your earlier statement that you would require my help should your determination of the captain's position be correct, I wish to point out that while I have received the requisite training in first aid and field medicine, I am hardly a medical doctor. Should you not have asked Nurse Chapel or someone more qualified than myself to accompany you?"

Leonard rounded a corner, swallowing a nervous huff. "Nurse Chapel is exhausted and monitoring sickbay. Everyone else is off duty or injured. To be frank, Mr. Spock, there are not very many medical hands to go around right now. I'll probably need you, depending on Jim's conditon. Also, you gave him half his injuries; the least you can do is help me clean up the mess." He glanced up at Spock, and what he saw almost made him stop in his tracks.

Spock– flinched.

For a moment Leonard hadn't believed what he had seen: a momentary pinching of the Vulcan's usually smooth features, in what was an unmistakable and very…human…expression.

But it was the contrition in Spock's tone that confirmed it. "I did not mean to in any way shirk responsibility for the injuries I have inflicted on Captain Kirk. Please believe me, Doctor, I am fully aware of the unforgiveable nature of my actions. Though I know the blows I landed can never be taken back, I would like to do what I can to ensure the captain's wellbeing in the future." Spock looked at the floor. "And, if at all possible, make up for what I have done." For once, Spock was not meeting the eyes of the person he was addressing, and for the first time Leonard wondered if he had misjudged the pointy-eared bastard.

The rounded another corner. Not far now.

Leonard sighed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Spock. Trust me, it's not the first time Jim has tied himself to the tracks. You do realize he was goading you on purpose, right? Trying to show that you were emotionally compromised?"

Spock nodded. "I recognize this. It does not condone my actions, however."

"Maybe not," Leonard agreed. "But while Jim has the memory of an elephant and can be a vindictive bastard at times, he's also quick to forgive the people he knows aren't at fault. " Leonard scoffed. "You did exactly what he wanted you to do, Spock."

"Perhaps." Spock seemed to consider it before changing the subject. "May I ask where we are going, Doctor?"

Leonard turned the final corner, his shoulders set in grim certainty. The memories playing through his mind since that first incident had raised their heads and dropped the answer in his lap back in sickbay.

He knew he was right, because there was only one place, one person, Jim went to when he had to let the walls come down.

Leonard looked down the hall grimly. "My quarters."

()()()()()()()

The first time it had happened, they'd only recently become what Leonard would consider close friends, and it hadn't been Leonard's dorm room.

It had been in the alley outside one of the shadier bars the Academy cadets frequented on the weekends, and Jim had broken bones.

Leonard was in the middle of studying. It seemed midterms were a total bitch across all spectra of academics. It was either very late or very early, and Leonard was far too tired to give a damn which. He rubbed his eyes before going back to rehashing his notes on the Terran eukaryotic phospholipid bilayer, and how many species in the Federation shared a similar structure that–

 _Brzzz. Bruzz._

Leonard groaned. Who the hell was comming him _now?_ Maybe his roommate locked himself out again– but wouldn't he just knock in that case?

Well, if it was at this hour it was either an emergency, something official or mundane enough to make him want to throw his comm into a reprocessor or out of a window, whichever was closer. He rubbed his eyes again before tiredly flipping it open. "McCoy."

For a moment, there was silence. Then a voice come over the comm, breathy and familiar. "Bones?"

Leonard straightened. "Jim?" Why the hell was Jim calling him at–Leonard glanced at his comm screen– 2:13 AM?

Sure, they were friends. Leonard would say even close friends now. At first they were just drinking buddies, study partners, someone to sit with in the mess hall. But as the rigor of Academy academics began to set in and everyone buckled down for the long haul of the first semester, Leonard was surprised to find himself leaning on Jim more, and in small ways, Jim returning the gesture. Neither of them really had other friends. Still, it seemed weird for Jim to call him at this hour.

Weird, and irritating. Midterms were next week, for God's sake. "What the hell, man? Do you know what time it is?"

"Bones… _ah_ …"

Leonard sat bolt upright, his irritation vanishing. That was pain in Jim's voice.

"Jim? Are you all right?" His doctor instincts kicked in, tired brain snapping awake like a switch had been flipped. Adrenaline flooded his system. "Talk to me, Jim."

An exhausted moan. "Bones… need y'r help… I made a mistake…."

"Jim." Leonard spoke with the clear, precise tone he assumed when speaking to a patient, when it was very important for a person to understand something. "Listen to me. Are you hurt?"

A beat. "Yeah…'m bleeding. Chest hurts. Got in a fight."

"Tell me where you are. I'm calling an ambulance."

"No!" Jim gasped hoarsely. "No, no ambulance, _please_ Bones…I need you…here. I don't trust them….please."

Leonard stood and grabbed his field bag. "Okay, Jim, I'm coming. I need you to tell me where you are."

"Bar..outside the bar…" Jim's voice was getting fainter. "Downtown. The Marilyn."

"I'm on my way," Leonard said, slamming the door behind him. He knew the Marilyn; it was one of the most popular, more disreputable watering holes among the cadets. Luckily, it was also less than a mile from the academy dorms. He started running, keeping Jim on the comm the whole time. He tried to keep him talking, but quickly he turned monosyllabic, muttering about how he'd made a mistake. Leonard ran faster.

Within a few minutes the soundtrack of too much drink in too little space reached his ears: thumping electronic beats, incoherent shouting over the music, and intermittent, delighted screams. He slowed in front of the Marilyn. Civilians and a few out-of-uniform cadets Leonard recognized mingled outside the entrance, bathed in the light of hot-pink neon. He turned and followed his gut toward a cut of darkness on the right side of the building.

Beyond the light's reach it grew significantly quieter. The road was empty and silent, save a quiet noise coming from the alley– coughing, raspy and tired. Leonard ran to the alley entrance and peered inside.

A figure was slumped against the wall nearby, arms and head resting bonelessly on the tops of his knees. Washed-out light from the residences above them caught on short blond hair, turning it silver. _Jim._

Leonard entered the alley and knelt at his side. "Jim," he said, gently placing his fingers on his friend's carotid to take his pulse. "Jim, it's me. Can you hear me?"

The punch was savage and precise, landing directly in Leonard's left cheekbone. He yelled in pain and surprise (and more than a little anger) and fell back, simultaneously clapping a hand over his injury and throwing up another to stop the next blow.

Jim wasn't done. Another blind haymaker followed, but Leonard could see it coming. It had none of Jim's usual control and calculation; a knee-jerk reaction, self-preservation, pure and simple and clumsy.

Leonard caught Jim's fist in his own. "Jim, Jesus, it's me, it's Bones! Calm down, Jim, calm down. You called me, remember? C'mon, look at me, kid."

Slowly, the power behind the fist faded. Jim blinked hazily. "Bones…shit…" He dropped his arm, his body relaxing.

Collapsing, actually. Jim slumped against Leonard in an awkward pile of torso and limbs.

"Damn it, man," said Leonard heatlessly, absorbing his friend's weight. Jim sighed against his shoulder, spent. "Don't you know I'm a doctor, not furniture?"

"S'ry I hit you," Jim mumbled as Leonard leaned him back against the wall as gently as he could.

"Eh, I probably had it coming," Leonard answered, pulling out a tricorder and beginning to scan his friend. "Talk to me, Jim. Where does it hurt?"

Jim doubled over in a coughing fit that actually made Leonard flinch in sympathy. His stomach turned, but he shoved away the feeling. He was a doctor, for God's sake. He'd had other people's blood on his hands more times than he cared to count.

But this was different. This was Jim, and damn it, Leonard cared about the kid. And seeing someone you cared about in pain is always hard, even for people like Leonard.

Jim fell back, groaning. Leonard gently leaned him against the wall again. "Head, stomach, chest," Jim said quietly. "Think a couple ribs are broken." He closed his eyes and leaned back like those few words had totally drained him.

"Well, you'd be right," Leonard said, reading the tricorder's findings. "Two broken, three cracked. No internal bleeding, but they'll hurt like a bitch till they heal. You also sustained a concussion, cracked cheekbone and various lacerations, including a deeper one to the back of your head. Let me guess– beer bottle?"

"Vodka." Jim grinned crookedly. There was blood in his teeth.

"Damn it, Jim, you need a hospital."

"No." Jim stared at Leonard, pleading. With the faint light and the blood on his face, Jim's eyes looked icier than ever, but desperate too. "Please, Bones. No hospital."

"Then why the hell did you call me?" Leonard asked, frustration creeping back. "If you needed a doctor– which you do– why not just call an ambulance?"

"I…can usually take care of stuff like this on my own." Jim looked down. "This isn't my first fight. But they dumped me out here, I tried to get up, and…" he gestured vaguely, but Leonard got the gist. Pain and shock tend to render legs obsolete. "I can't fix this on my own. Please, Bones. I need your help."

Leonard's insides knotted. As a doctor, he felt the urge to get Jim to a safer, more sterile facility with the actual tools for the job. He was hurt badly; he needed medical attention.

And yet in Jim's voice, on his face, was something Leonard had never seen in the kid before: vulnerability. The prerequisite to that was trust.

And Jim didn't trust anyone.

Leonard sighed. Why did this always seem to happen to him?

He knelt down and drew his friend's arm across his shoulders, hooking his other hand under Jim's other arm. "C'mon, kid. You're coming to my dorm. I'll get you cleaned up. Someone's gonna have to stay up with you to keep an eye on that concussion anyway, you damn infant."

Jim moaned as they rose, but his legs were passably steady. They began making their way out of the alley. "You were studying anyway," he mumbled.

Leonard frowned. "How'd you know that?"

Jim's eyes slid shut as he let Leonard guide him. "Know you."

A feeling almost forgotten warmed in Leonard's stomach: comfort from a friend. "Why'd you go and get yourself into this fight anyway, kid?"

As they cleared the alley, Jim whispered something that made Leonard's heart break.

"It's my birthday."

()()()()()

Leonard scowled the memory away. It wouldn't be like that this time.

They reached his quarters. Technically, they were Puri's, but upon the former CMO's death registration the assignment had automatically been changed to his successor, McCoy. It was a detail that would have escaped most, but Jim would have thought of that, Leonard was sure. Also, the quarters were a single. Jim wouldn't retreat to a place with people. People other than Leonard, anyway.

He turned to Spock. "Listen, I've seen Jim when he's hurt or sick. It ain't pretty. Do exactly as I say, and nothing else. You'll end up with a black eye or worse."

Spock nodded once.

Leonard scowled again. "Stay here. I need to assess his condition alone." _Because I'm the only one the infant trusts to see him vulnerable,_ Leonard thought darkly. "I'll comm you when I need you."

Spock nodded again, the same almost-concerned look momentarily darkening his eyes. "Understood, Doctor." He moved to stand at attention next to the door, hands clasped behind his back.

Leonard turned away and let out a breath before punching in the entry code and going into the darkened room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey all! Wow, this took a lot longer than I thought it would, I hope you all are still reading!**

 **Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.**

 **Other, medical disclaimer: I should've probably said this in the beginning, but I am not a medical doctor, and any medical procedures that happen in this chapter or throughout the rest of any of my stories are solely the product of personal knowledge and any online research I have done pertaining to the situation. Therefore, there is the possibility of medical inaccuracy in this work. If anyone who IS a medical doctor or related to the field reads this and sees such an inaccuracy, I would really appreciate it if you would review or PM me with the correction. (Please be polite though.) This should probably go without saying, but if you or a friend or family member is injured or sick, please do not turn to my fanfiction for medical advice. Be safe, use common sense and seek licensed medical attention when necessary.**

 **With that said, hope you like the chapter, and I if you have a minute I love reviews!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **P.S. Kudos to those who recognize the book Bones is reading from without looking it up online. :)**

 **Chapter Three**

Leonard entered the silent cabin. "Jim?"

The door swished shut behind him, casting the room in total darkness. Leonard paused. "Lights, 10%."

A feeble glow came from the ceiling. Leonard looked around but saw nothing. "Jim?" He moved forward, medical bag in hand. The room was utterly silent.

Except… what was that? A soft sound, an uneven muffled rasp, coming from the other side of the room. Near the ground.

 _Shit._

Leonard surged around the foot of the bed. A figure, dressed in black with short blond hair, was lying facedown on the floor.

"Jim." Leonard knelt and opened his medbag with one hand and gently checked Jim's pulse with the other. _Shit._ Far too slow and faint for comfort. His breathing was raspy and labored. "Jim, it's Bones. Can you hear me?"

No response. Leonard pulled out his tricorder and began scanning. He flipped open his comm with his other hand. "Spock, get in here," he said tersely, closing the device without waiting for a response.

The tricorder beeped back its results. Leonard muttered a curse, but in relief. Not nearly as bad as he thought, but still bad.

The door hissed open, then closed. Spock knelt beside Leonard. "Doctor."

"His trachea is bruised and severely swollen, two broken ribs and five cracked," Leonard stated without introduction. "His lungs are intact, but the swelling in his throat combined with the stress from the rib fractures is putting too much pressure on his respiratory system. He's unconscious, probably from the pain and not enough oxygen in his system. I'm going to give him an anti-inflammatory; once it kicks in we need to move him onto the bed and elevate his feet and stabilize his head. He also has a mild concussion, but I'm not worrying about that yet." Spock nodded silently.

Leonard retrieved the appropriate hypospray, checked it, and pressed it into Jim's bruised neck. There was a hiss as the medicine left the capsule and entered Jim's bloodstream.

"His breathing should stabilize and improve in about thirty seconds," said Leonard, loathing the gap. He had to wait for the treatment to take effect, but he hated the period of helplessness, unable to do anything for his friend. He reminded himself that before the invention of the hypospray he would've had to wait a lot longer. Not for the first time, Leonard thanked the common miracles of modern medicine.

"Doctor McCoy," said Spock, "would it not be wiser to move the Captain to the medical bay? Its equipment and sterilization are far superior to the resources you have here."

"No room," growled Leonard, checking Jim's pulse again. Finally, it was growing stronger. "The beds are full, including overflow, and I'm understaffed. Jim's injuries are considerable , but he's not in critical condition and can be treated on site. I'd rather not move him more than necessary anyway." _And he came here because he feels safe. Because he only trusts you._

Jim's breathing started to even out, deepening and strengthening, but still not strong enough for Leonard's comfort. Time to get him elevated.

"We need to move him, Spock," Leonard said. He scanned the room. No board for lifting, not even a tabletop. Damn. "Okay, hand me that blanket." Spock did, and Leonard laid it out next to Jim. "You take his torso, you're stronger then I am. Try not to jostle his ribs. I'll get his legs. We're going to lift him onto the blanket and go from there."

Spock nodded again, mouth set him a grim line.

Leonard rolled Jim over as gently as he could, holding back a sympathetic flinch. Jim's face was bruised too, small cuts ringing one eye from his earlier fight with Spock. Finger and hand-shaped bruises lined his throat in a purpling collar.

"Okay, Jim," he murmured, squeezing his friend's shoulder gently.

Leonard and Spock switched places. They took their positions.

"One, two," Leonard counted, "three."

They lifted in unison. Jim moaned in pain, still unconscious but no doubt feeling it on some level. Leonard's stomach clenched in empathy.

They deposited him on the blanket, then gripped the ends and lifted again.

And then Jim was safely on the bunk, body relaxing into the mattress. Leonard allowed himself a minute relaxation.

"Spock, pass me that pillow," Leonard ordered. Spock complied, and Leonard gently lifted Jim's feet onto it. It wasn't perfect, but it would help with the blood flow. Then he moved to Jim's head and arranged the remaining pillows to support his head and neck. He fished out one of the painkillers compatible with the anti-inflammatory (and with Jim's fucked-up, allergic-to-everything immune system) and administered it. Jim tensed in his sleep at the hypo, then relaxed again.

Leonard ran a hand over his hair wearily. "Well, that's all I can do for now. He's stable for now, and the painkiller should be kicking in soon."

"What of the concussion?" asked Spock.

"The anti-inflammatory should help address that," Leonard answered tiredly. "I'd give him a stimulant to wake him up, but he's not in any immediate danger, and I don't want to put any more drugs into his system. If the concussion was any worse I would, but I think it's better to let him sleep some of it off and wake up in his own time. When he's conscious I'll get some fluids into him." Leonard pulled up a chair– Puri, thankfully, had some actual interior design going on in his cabin– and settled in for the long haul. "Spock, I don't need you anymore. Thanks for your help, but I've got it from here. You can go."

No response.

Leonard frowned in confusion and glanced up.

Spock hadn't left. In fact, he was pulling over a chair of his own. He folded himself elegantly into it as Leonard stared. "Spock? Did you hear me? I'll watch him."

"With all due respect toward your medical ability, Dr. McCoy," Spock said with the same almost-wry tone he'd used on Leonard in the hallway after he'd ditched Jim on Delta Vega, "you would do well to evaluate your own condition. I believe Nurse Chapel ordered you off duty before you met with me."

Leonard bristled. "This doesn't count, Spock. This is me looking after Jim until he wakes up. I'm not on duty, damn it."

"You both need to rest," Spock stated. "I will watch over the captain, and inform you as soon as the need arises. It is truly the least I can do, given the circumstances."

Leonard opened his mouth to protest, then slowly closed it. Damn him, but Spock was right. Exhaustion of a caliber he'd never experienced was yanking Leonard toward unconsciousness. Concern for Jim was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment, but that would soon too fail as the wait began.

Nevertheless, he scowled. "You can't tell me you're not tired, Spock. You've been through it just like the rest of us."

Spock dipped his chin in a conciliatory gesture. "I will admit I am tired, but not on your physical and emotional level. Being half-Vulcan allows me to retain function far beyond human capacity, and we recover much of our energy through meditation. Simply sitting quietly is one of my primary forms of rest, Doctor. My keeping watch over the captain while you rest would be beneficial for both of us."

 _God damn it._ Leonard hesitated. It wasn't like he didn't trust Spock to keep an eye. There was a difference between distrust and honest dislike. No, it was because it was Jim, and as Jim only trusted Leonard to treat him, Leonard only really trusted himself to watch over him.

Yet he was starting to suspect Chapel was right. He'd be in danger of violating his Hippocratic oath the next time he laid a hand on someone if he didn't rest soon.

Leonard sighed, capitulating. "You get me if anything happens," he said warningly. "Anything. His breathing speeds up, he gets clammy or feverish, hell, if he _sleeptalks_ you wake me, Spock. I mean it. And I'm not leaving the room." Leonard stood, dragging his chair, and moved over to sit in the slightly more padded chair at Puri's desk. He propped his feet up on his original chair and shifted until comfortable. "I'll catch a few winks here. Got it, Spock?"

Spock simply crossed his legs in his chair in a pose reminiscent of the human lotus. "I understand, Doctor. Rest well." He turned away.

Leonard swallowed a final growl before sleep dragged him down for good, remembering the last time he'd settled into a chair, waiting for Jim to wake up.

()()()()

Coffee.

It was the only coherent thought in his mind. He needed coffee to survive, or at least heavily caffeinated tea. Leonard didn't like relying on substances to keep functional, but caffeine was different. Caffeine was a necessity to academy survival. He'd learned this early on; when you're focusing on six different subjects at once, all of them dragging you in completely different directions and demanding your full input every single time… sleep tended to go by the wayside. Therefore, stimulant in the form of bean juice.

It was the end of the day, almost the end of the school year. Oh God, was he ready for it. This first year had been one of the most challenging in Leonard's life. Academically…and socially.

It had been a jump, that was for sure. Going from a quieter, comfortable clinic in Georgia to the pulsing, encroaching, multi-layered loudness of several thousand people of many different species in one of the most historically colorful and diverse cities on Earth. It didn't help that Leonard was older than most of the other cadets, either. The majority of these kids were just that: kids. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed early twenties postgrads with hardly a mark on them, physical or mental. Leonard enlisted at twenty-seven with more emotional baggage than he cared to often think about. Before arriving at the academy, he methodically and deliberately built a shell around his personality, promising himself that he would throw himself into his work in order to move past what had driven him here. And if that came off as antisocial gruffness, all the better. Better for others that way, and for him.

It had largely worked, with only one real exception.

An exception who hadn't showed up to lunch that day.

Leonard frowned as he got in line for coffee at his favorite street vendor near the dorms. Sure, Jim had completed almost all of his exams– Leonard was pretty sure he had one more two days from now– but even if he didn't need to be in the building for class, the two of them always met for lunch. Leonard had waited for twenty minutes before figuring something had come up, and Jim would explain later. Still, it was unlike him to just blow Leonard off.

The line shuffled forward, but suspicion and confusion started to gnaw at Leonard. It had been nearly a year since they'd met, and he and Jim had bonded in a way that Leonard had never seen coming. As another social outlier– smarter, grittier, and far, far sharper than most anyone else in his class– Jim had been left out of the cliques and friend groups that formed in the first weeks of the school year. Somehow, he and Leonard had gravitated toward each other and become friends. They were outcasts together even before that night Jim called him from the alley outside the bar downtown, and Leonard had found him bloody and beaten and waiting for him, willing, _needing_ at last to let the walls come down.

He'd thought he'd known who Jim was–or who his father was, anyway– before then. He'd heard it through the academy gossip and only half-believed it. The story had seemed too dramatically poetic to be true. The son of the great George Kirk, hero and martyr, returned from obscurity to follow in his father's footsteps? Please.

Then Jim had whispered those three simple words, repeated too many times before in joy rather than deadened sorrow.

 _"It's my birthday."_

Leonard took the kid back to his dorm, cleaned him up and listened as Jim, monotone and not meeting his eyes, told him that piece of his past. That he really was George Kirk's son.

It was all he told him, but it was enough. Jim acted cagey and nervous around Leonard for a week after, but once Leonard had made it clear that he wasn't going to blab their conversation all over campus, Jim started to relax.

So did Leonard. Over drinks and late nights in the library and jut hanging out enjoying one another's company, Leonard started telling Jim more about his own past. The divorce. Joanna. His own father's death. Jim was a good listener. And for reasons still vague to him, Leonard trusted him to keep his secrets, as he kept Jim's. Jim in turn released little shards of his shrouded personal history, never enough for Leonard to stitch together the whole picture, but something to help him understand his friend a little better.

Though it was becoming increasingly clear to Leonard: he would never understand even half of the sharp-edged, light-catching inner workings of James T. Kirk.

Leonard sighed tiredly as he trudged up the steps toward his floor. Well, he didn't need to understand him. Not to be his friend, anyway. He just had to look out for the kid, make sure he didn't get his ass thrown out of the academy or his face beaten in on the weekends.

His shoe scuffed on the sandpapered surface of the top step as he paused. _When did I start thinking like this? Like he's someone I need to protect?_ There was only one other person on Earth or in space about whom Leonard felt that way, and she was living with her mother, thousands of miles and one video message a week away, far beyond his ability to do anything for her safety.

Leonard shook out the thought with a growl and proceeded to his dorm. He was Jim's friend, and he would watch his back, sure, but he wasn't his goddamn babysitter. The kid was probably out at a bar somewhere, decompressing and flirting with the female and breathing. Or, more likely, he was holed up someplace on campus, coffee at one hand, PADDs and reference books scattered all around in academic ejecta as he crammed for his last exam.

So Leonard hadn't seen him at all that day, it didn't mean he was on the side of the road somewhere. He rubbed a hand over his face, wondering exactly when he had let himself become this concerned with another adult's wellbeing. He had to stop worrying so much.

With a drained sigh, Leonard punched in his code. His roommate was out on an end-of-year weeklong internship (the lucky little shit got to attend a colonization initiative two parsecs away instead of suffering through finals), and Leonard had been secretly reveling in the peace and quiet. His exhaustion faded fractionally at the concept of drinking his coffee and studying in silence for once. He slung his satchel off unceremoniously to the ground as he walked inside. His medkit followed suit with a more tender impact. "Lights, eighty percent," Leonard announced.

Soft light poured from the ceiling just as the grunt of pain reached Leonard's ears.

It was a soft sound, but enough to make Leonard's entire body tense. His senses opened up, and for a sharp second he was on high alert, taking in information and studying the room. He was a doctor; he knew what pain sounded like, knew what it smelled like at this point. The rotten scent of stress and sickness permeated the room; he was surprised he hadn't noticed it as soon as he walked in. The room was cooler than he had left it, which meant the temperature had been manually turned down. Someone had gotten into his room.

It had to be his roommate. Adrian must have gotten sick on their internship and come back early. "Adrian?" Leonard called tentatively.

Another moan, coming from the couch he and Adrian shared. It was turned away from the door, so Leonard couldn't see who was in it.

Leonard toed off his boots and padded toward the couch, still tense. He couldn't be sure, but that moan hadn't sounded much like his roommate.

And just like that, the pieces of the day fell into place. His stomach dropped.

"Jim?" He rounded the couch, praying he was wrong.

A figure was curled into the couch, back to Leonard, the blanket usually slung over the back of the couch pulled tightly over him. Short blond hair, shiny with sweat, was all Leonard could see above the blanket. Adrian had black hair, and even without the process of elimination, Leonard's gut had known who was here.

Leonard sighed and knelt next to the couch, placing a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Damn it, kid." He slipped a hand under Jim's chin to place his fingers on his carotid. His pulse was steady but his skin felt feverish. "What'd you get yourself into this time?" Leonard stood to retrieve his medkit from where he'd left it near the door.

When he came back to the couch, he was surprised to find two fever-bright blues peering back at him. Jim had rolled over and was focusing on Leonard, but hadn't moved from the fetal position.

Leonard knelt. "Hey, Jim," he said, quietly but clearly. "You're stealing my couch now, not just my coffee?" Jim had gotten into the bad habit of lifting Leonard's mug in the morning and returning it effectively empty. The man could chug caffeine.

Jim didn't answer. He just blinked tiredly and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, despite the sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead and temples.

Leonard scowled as he pulled out his tricorder and began running it over Jim. Given their history of getting heroically drunk at the end of finals, Leonard would've coined this as a textbook hangover. Would've, except he knew that after a long night out Jim tended to lock himself in his room and nurse a cup of coffee for an hour then take a long walk down by the waterfront. He'd never broken into Leonard's dorm room to commandeer his couch and moan in the fetal position.

"Jim?" Leonard asked gently, not looking away from the instrument in his hand. "What's going on, man? What hurts?" Even though the tricorder would come back with results in a minute, Leonard still preferred to get the patient's input first.

Jim was silent. Leonard frowned again and looked away from the tricorder screen.

Jim wiggled his hands out from under the blanket. _You know USL?_ he signed.

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know USL, Jim. It's only the preliminary language in every school in the Federation."

 _Just checking_ , Jim signed. _I never know; you're so old they might not have had Universal Sign Language in place when you were in elementary school._

Leonard flipped him a sign that had been commonplace far before USL. Jim cracked a grin, then winced. Some of the silent tension in Leonard's gut uncoiled; if Jim was still coherent enough to have a sense of humor, that was something.

"Why can't you talk?" asked Leonard, even as the tricorder beeped its feedback.

 _Throat,_ Jim motioned. _Feels like someone stuck a laserblade down it. Hurts to talk._

"I'll bet," Leonard said, scanning the tricorder's results. "Looks like all your fornicating has finally come back to bite you, kid. You got the kissing disease."

Jim raised a lecherous eyebrow. _I've had that far longer than 24 hours, Bones._

Leonard rolled his eyes again. "Mononucleosis, you moron. They called it the kissing disease because it's spread through bodily fluids. Including spit."

Jim frowned. _Why haven't I heard of it?_

"It's rare," Leonard answered, "at least now. Was pretty common back in the day, especially among infants. No wonder why you got it, then."

Jim gave him a foul look. Then he started coughing.

The sound alone made Leonard's stomach take another nosedive. Jim's coughs were strangled and thick with pain.

Leonard lifted Jim's head and torso up and leaned them against his own. Jim continued coughing, doubling over in the effort. Leonard flinched in sympathy. He'd gotten mono when he was seven, and he remembered _exactly_ how much it had hurt. Still, when tears squeezed from Jim's eyes, Leonard felt a jolt of surprise. In all the time he'd known him, even on the multiple occasions when he set a broken nose or regened torn skin from Jim's bar fights, he'd never seen the man cry. He knew how high Jim's pain tolerance was, which meant the pain he was in now was considerable. Leonard grit his teeth and rode it out with him as the coughs slowly subsided.

"Jim," Leonard said lowly as Jim curled even tighter into himself. "You should go the infirmary. It's gonna take about a week for the worst of this to work itself out of your system. They can give you IV painkillers and drugs to reduce the swelling in your throat."

Jim opened his eyes blearily and looked up at Leonard, and the doctor was suddenly struck by just how _young_ Jim was. He was barely a year over legal drinking age, for God's sake. And despite the partying and drinking and sleeping around, there were times when Leonard thought he got a glimpse of an old soul in his young friend, older than it should have been. Leonard found himself wondering darkly how that age had gotten there.

Jim shook his head. _I'm not going there._

Leonard frowned, irritated. "You said that last time I patched you up. What's the big deal, Jim? They can treat you better than I can."

Jim shifted so he was leaning against the back of the couch instead of Leonard's chest. His head hung in exhaustion, cheeks flushed with sickness and pain. _Can you keep a secret, Bones?_ He signed.

The question was so abrupt and unexpected Leonard had to run the signage over again in his head and wonder if he's mistranslated. "Trust me, Jim? What– why?"

 _It's about my medical records. Can you keep a secret?_ Jim asked again. He wouldn't meet Leonard's eyes.

A black feeling coiled in Leonard's gut. Something was running much deeper here than mono.

Leonard hated secrets. He hated that they were necessary. He hated how they ate people up or drove them apart. But that vulnerability was back, the openness in Jim's stance and face and young eyes that Leonard never saw him show to anyone but him. And he knew he could never refuse or refute that level of trust.

He sighed. The feeling in his gut was growing, like he was going to learn something he never wanted to know, but he said, "Yeah, kid, I'll keep your secret. But tell me when you can speak with your voice. Lie back down, I'm going to the clinic and getting you drugs. You're not leaving this room until I say so."

It was a testament to his exhaustion that Jim didn't even put up a fight. Leonard guided him back down to the pillow gently and pulled the blanket over him. "If you've moved when I get back, you won't have to worry about mono; I'll kill you myself."

 _Love you too, Bones,_ Jim signed, before covering his eyes with his right hand and heaving a big sigh. Leonard took the hint and dimmed the lights before filling a lidded plastic mug with water, sticking a straw in it and leaving it within Jim's reach. "Try to have drunk some of that by the time I get back," he instructed. "If you get too dehydrated I'm not going to have a choice, Jim, I'll have to take you to the infirmary and put you on IV fluids. I'll let you stay here but you're not dicking around with this, you hear me?"

Jim didn't remove his hand from his eyes, but he found the mug with his other hand and took a sip in response.

Driven by a sudden, protective urge, Leonard reached down and grasped Jim's forearm. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Jim stiffened at the contact, then relaxed. He set the mug down, rested his fingers on Leonard's gently, then signed, _OK._

Leonard squeezed his arm one more time before turning, throwing on his coat and locking the door behind him.

He hadn't intended to run. But he did. The ten-minute walk across east campus to the Medical Commons flew by in about four. He slowed before the doors of the clinic and swiped himself in. It was fairly late by this point, and the clinic was quiet. He wrote a prescription and checked out the necessary doses of the drugs Jim would need.

The mug hadn't moved when Leonard got back. Neither had Jim. Leonard dragged one of the desk chairs over to the side of the couch and rested a hand gently on Jim's shoulder. "You awake, kid?"

Jim gave him a weary thumbs-up. _You bring drugs?_

"You bet," Leonard said. "I'm going to give you something specifically for mono; it'll help with the swelling in your throat and give your immune system a boost. Even with today's medicine you can't knock mono out in one go. And also a compatible steroid that'll help with the pain– what?"

Jim was shaking head minutely. _Steroids, you said?_

"Yeah," Leonard answered, a little baffled. "Why?"

Jim looked away. Was he– embarrassed? _I'm allergic to steroids,_ he signed, lips pursed in chagrin. _And about seventy other drugs._

"You're shitting me," Leonard said blankly. "No. You're completely shitting me."

Jim still wouldn't meet his eyes.

" _You're allergic to steroids_? What else? How have you never told me that?"

Jim looked up at him. He had the balls to raise an eyebrow. _Have you ever actually seen my medical file?_

Leonard opened his mouth to snap back a retort– and then realized…"No, I guess I haven't."

 _And do you know any doctor here who has?_

Leonard narrowed his eyes. "What're you getting at, Jim?"

 _My medical file is sealed. It can only be accessed by an attending physician of my choosing._

This night was just getting better. "What the hell are you talking about, Jim?" Leonard growled. "Every cadet's file is open access throughout medical. That's how we know what not to give everyone when they come in unconscious from a training accident. It's protocol."

Jim, despite the sheen of fever on his cheeks and the pain in his eyes, gave him a look that spoke volumes. Of course. Jim had been admitted to the academy with virtually no normal screening, _after_ beating the shit out of a few fresh recruits. Almost nothing about the kid was protocol.

 _It's sealed,_ Jim repeated. _Until I or Pike says otherwise. I guess I just did._

Leonard ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Pike…? So what happens when you get stabbed coming back from a bar and the doctor on duty doesn't know what blood type you are because your damn file wouldn't be accessible?"

 _I suppose they'd have to guess,_ Jim signed.

"Jesus Christ, Jim," Leonard snarled.

 _Bones,_ Jim signed, some of the exhaustion coming back into his movements. _I promise I'll explain everything after this. Just give me the mono drug; forget about the steroid._

"This is the only high-level painkiller compatible with this treatment," Leonard protested. "It'll help with the swelling and actual sickness but won't do jack shit for the pain on its own."

 _It's okay, Bones. I don't mind._ Jim closed his eyes, the conversation seeming to have used up whatever dregs of energy he had left.

Leonard sat back and ran his hands through his already abused hair again. "Dammit, Jim. At least let me give you a sedative so you can sleep."

Jim didn't move, but it seemed to Leonard that he tensed again. He shook his head.

Leonard sighed. "Look, kid. I clearly don't know you like I thought I did, but I still consider you my friend. My only friend, really, and if you were anything else you'd be in the infirmary already. You came to _my_ dorm, took over _my_ couch, and for some reason I let you steal my coffee in the morning and you listen to me talk about my shitty-ass marriage and shitty-ass divorce and the little girl I love more than the world. That's gotta count for something. I don't know what you're running from, Jim. I don't care. You're my friend, and I'm staying here with you, whether you like it or not. Take the damn sedative."

He rested his hand on Jim's once more, and gently, he added, "I'm not going anywhere, kid. I'll keep an eye on things." Jim looked up at him, again with those ancient, youthful eyes, and for a moment Leonard could almost see the battle of instincts going on inside him, stripped bare by pain and tenderness.

 _Oh, Jim. Where have you been?_

Then, slowly, Jim nodded. _How long will I be out?_ he asked.

"Two hours. Then you need to hydrate, and eat something if you can. The other drug should be having an effect by then."

 _Okay. Go ahead._

Leonard nodded and administered the treatment as gently as he could. The hiss of the hypo was harsh in the quiet room.

"I'll be at my desk, okay?" Leonard asked. "Just over there. If you wake up and can't see me, don't freak out. I'm right here."

Jim nodded again. Already he was blinking more. He'd be out like a light in a minute. "Okay," Leonard said again. He stood.

And was tugged back. Jim had caught his sleeve and was looking up at him. _Bones,_ he signed. _Thanks._

The sign was simple, but the words in Jim's eyes were many. Leonard felt a lump form in his throat. He squeezed his friend's fingers. "No problem, kid."

After Jim fell asleep, Leonard went to his desk, but the subjects that had seemed so pressing and urgent had suddenly lost their fire. He ended up pulling out a book– a real book, old and loved and whose pages smelled like a story– and settled back in the chair next to the couch. Jim was dead asleep, relaxed like someone stole his bones, but Leonard started to read softly aloud anyway. It was a story he had always loved even as a child, about a horse who would become leader of the land he loved.

 _"…On this night, Bel Bel, the cream brumby mare, gave birth to a colt foal, pale like herself, or paler, in that wild black storm…"_

He held the book to ground himself when, eight days later, Jim told him about Tarsus IV.

" _Dr. McCoy_."

Leonard's eyes flicked open as Spock's urgent voice cut through his sleep. If he could even call it that– his neck and back ached loudly and his dreams had been hazy and bloody, but he pushed the pain out and surged upright. "Spock– what is–"

And that was when the first scream reached his ears.


End file.
